“Dear Jenks, come back no more,” mimicked the boy. “And why not, little sweetheart?”
“’Cause you is a thief, and you is larnin’ thiefin’ to Dick.”
“Oh my! the precious young cove, I didn’t know as ’ee was to be reared hup so tender. But why does you say as I am a thief, Flo—it wor Dick tuk the purse yesterday.”
“But you larned ’im ’ow to take it, Jenks.”
“No, I didn’t, ’ee larned ’imself, ’ee wanted none of my coddlin’ and dressin’. Tell yer ’ee’d make a real stunnin’ thief arter a bit. But I’ll not teach ’im nothink, not I. No, Flo,” (this gravely), “I’ll promise yer this, and yere’s my ’and on it, ef I sees ’im touch so much as a brass farthing, I’ll give ’im a whackin’ as ’ull soon teach ’im to be an honest boy.”
“And you won’t come back no more?”
“I won’t say that—the cellar’s conwenient, and I pays fur ’arf. Yes, I’ll turn in to-night, and as long as I ’ave a mind to. Now I’m orf to my work—wot ain’t that of a thief,” and snapping his fingers disdainfully, Jenks disappeared.
Flo stood for a moment, her hand over her eyes, looking up the hot street. Her mission she felt was only half accomplished, but it was some consolation to know, that the next time Dick acted the part of a thief, his companion, instead of loading him with praise, would bestow on him instead a far-sounding whacking.
Flo did not mind how hard it was, if only it saved her brother from following in the steps of those boys of whom her mother had so often told her.